


Top 5 Possibly Illegal Love Potions to Brew This Summer! (Side-Effects May Vary)

by featherx



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Getting Together, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx
Summary: Linhardt examines the vial. “Are you sure this is going to work?”Claude grins. “Don’t you trust me?”Right, stupid question. Of course it’s going to work. The real question is if it’ssafe.A pinch of pining, a dash of scheming, and the lightest sprinkle of annoyances-to-lovers.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	Top 5 Possibly Illegal Love Potions to Brew This Summer! (Side-Effects May Vary)

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be 5k at most but it spiraled out of control, just like my life. anyway here is some linclaude i worked on to continue avoiding my looming responsibilities! hope yall enjoy :)
> 
> note for mild, one-sided, and love-potioned casphardt, ferdihardt, and linbert (and platonic byhardt)

Linhardt examines the vial. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

Claude grins. “Don’t you trust me?”

Right, stupid question. Of course it’s going to work. The real question is if it’s _safe._

Linhardt downs the potion anyway, coughing weakly at the unexpected sweetness, and sets the vial carefully back in its rack. “It certainly tastes nothing like it smells,” Linhardt mutters, wiping his mouth. Ugh, he wants to brush his teeth now, but who knows if that may have an effect on the potion. “So? Is it working?”

Claude von Riegan, also known as the Golden Deer House leader, also known as heir to House Riegan, also known as Linhardt’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Headache, hums thoughtfully. “Hmm… I don’t feel anything different, but I know it’s supposed to take immediate effect. Maybe it needs a bit of time after all? Anyway, go and see if it works,” he says, grinning eagerly. “This is gonna be hilarious—I mean, groundbreaking research, Linhardt!”

“I heard that.”

“The part about the groundbreaking research?”

“The part where you are almost certainly going to be documenting all of this just to laugh at me afterwards,” Linhardt sighs. Why did he agree to this again? Oh, right. He’d rather not remember. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. This is _one_ study I would honestly have rather slept for…”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad!” Claude waves at him as he leaves. “Tell me everything later, okay!”

Knowing him, Linhardt won’t even need to say a word for Claude to find out all that had happened somehow, including the most embarrassing parts. Actually, _especially_ the most embarrassing parts. The man collects blackmail like they’re an addiction, honestly.

Around a week ago, Linhardt had made an extremely foolish miscalculation: he had made a deal with Claude. In his defense, he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before (because he had spent all night reading, as he is wont to do), Byleth had once again given him a perfect zero on their latest exam because Linhardt had left it blank, and Claude had been yammering away about Linhardt joining the Golden Deer that Linhardt may have snapped at him to leave him alone to read in peace.

Claude had been quiet for a grand total of five seconds. Even then that was already longer than the norm, so Linhardt had wondered if he’d been perhaps a bit sharp when Claude grinned. “How about this? The Battle of the Eagle and the Lion is coming up quick. If the Black Eagles win, I’ll stop pestering you about this.”

The concept was extremely tempting, but Linhardt wasn’t a fool (or so he thought). “And if the Deer win?”

“Well, then you’ll obviously have to join our House!”

“Then I must refuse,” Linhardt immediately said. “Far too much at stake for rather little gain, in my opinion. If, on the other hand, you were to stop your nonsense _after_ telling me about all those secrets you’re hiding…”

Claude paled, as Linhardt had expected. He figured that was the end of it and returned to his book, but after Claude paced the entire length of the library for around five times, he hurried back to Linhardt’s side with a new offer. “I’ve been working on a little… experiment, of sorts, these days,” he said, too nonchalantly for Linhardt to believe. “But I can’t do it on my own, and I think you’d be the perfect guy to help me out. What do you say?”

He had almost certainly worded it to be deliberately vague, but instead of questioning him about it further, Linhardt simply said, “Alright,” and turned a page of his book. Claude was always tinkering with something or other, and Linhardt would be lying if he weren’t a bit curious of what he always looked so busy with. At the very least, it would be something interesting.

Of course, the Eagles lost—it was simply unfair, how were they supposed to stand up to Byleth on their own?—and Linhardt had even been the last one left among them, with Edelgard having ‘sacrificed’ herself to help him and Hubert get away. Well, Hubert had been plucked up by Marianne on a pegasus, and apparently he had passed out as soon as they flew higher than the trees, so it was just Linhardt cornered in the small patch of woods to the west of Gronder Field, with Claude grinning victoriously before him.

“This is all really very unfair,” Linhardt insisted, trying to gather some Fire magic behind his back. If he could just get away and let the Lions and Deer fight it out… “How was I supposed to know Professors Manuela and Hanneman would let Professor Byleth fight without them?”

“Too bad, so sad,” Claude sang. He slung his bow over his back and whipped out an axe instead. “Alright, Linhardt, if you don’t wanna get hurt, you can always surrender peacefully…”

If it were Dimitri, Linhardt probably would have accepted the gesture. But this was Claude, and Linhardt’s pride has always gotten in the way when it comes to him.

Embarrassingly enough, Linhardt’s Fire magic had spiraled out of control and started a forest fire Claude had to carry him out of on his back. Only after Linhardt had tried using a Wind spell to get the last hit in did he eventually concede defeat—the Wind spell technically hit, but it had done little more than ruffle Claude’s hair. At least Claude had set him down gently on a bench afterwards before running back out to duke it out with the last of the Lions.

And now Linhardt’s here, with some sort of _love potion_ swimming around in his system. He had tried arguing that it was unreasonable to make him both help _and_ be the test subject for the experiment, but his words had gone in one of Claude’s ears and out the other. He should have expected as such.

How is he supposed to go about seeing if this potion works, though? Linhardt wanders aimlessly around the monastery for a bit, his thoughts eventually drifting to what book he’ll read from cover to cover later tonight once this is all over, when he suddenly bumps into someone’s back. “Excuse me—oh, Caspar,” he greets, pleasantly surprised. Caspar might have an idea on what to do now. “Say, do you have some time to—”

“Lin!” Caspar shouts, loud enough that Linhardt is fairly sure people from the other side of the monastery hear him. “Whoa! Where’d you come from? Wait, don’t go, stay there! I’ll be right back!”

And he’s off. Linhardt doesn’t even have time to blink before Caspar has disappeared around the corner.

“Er… alright,” Linhardt says, to thin air. Is that normal? Caspar shouting and running around is fairly normal, but that had been abrupt, even for him. Is there maybe something he has to give Linhardt? Linhardt can’t remember lending Caspar anything recently, although to be fair they don’t really ‘lend’ as much as they ‘get each other’s stuff and return it a week later with no explanation.’ Wait, maybe that’s just Linhardt. Whatever. Anyway, now that Linhardt’s curiosity has been piqued, he supposes he has no choice but to stand here and wait for Caspar to return.

Caspar comes running back not a minute later, although now he’s balancing something in his arms. Actually, a… whole pile of somethings. “Here, Lin!” Caspar exclaims, skidding to a stop before Linhardt. Miraculously, the plates of food he had stacked up in his arms somehow don’t fall. “Are you hungry? You’re probably hungry, right? You always forget to eat! Here, I got all the food you like!”

“Uh… did you?” Linhardt frowns. “I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to raid half the dining hall. And it’s the middle of the day.” He gets a few plates just to set them atop a nearby bench, lest Caspar’s luck run out and they end up with more wasted food than they know what to do with.

“Yeah, well, I wanna take care of you!” Caspar declares, so earnestly that Linhardt, despite himself, feels his cheeks warm. Caspar is always usually earnest, but even he gets shy about just saying things like that. And all this food… it’s not unusual for Caspar to deliver a plate to his room whenever he misses dinner, but this much is…

Wait. Linhardt frowns. Could this be the effect of the potion?

“What’s wrong?” Caspar presses. He’s even more excitable than usual, not unlike the puppies around the monastery. “You aren’t eating? Oh! Were you in the mood for something else today? Okay! No problem! Tell me what it is and I’ll go get it too!”

“Oh, er, no. No, it’s fine.” Would Caspar do anything Linhardt asks? The prospect of a lovesick Caspar falling into the hands of the wrong person is too frightening to consider. Linhardt’s now a little glad he’d been the one to take the potion instead—he has no idea what Claude might have done in his position. Send Caspar out to assassinate Archbishop Rhea, probably, and get him killed in the process. “Caspar, I’m fine. I’m not hungry. You can have this food for yourself, actually.”

Caspar pouts. “What? But I got it for you! Are you sure you don’t want it, Lin? I wanna make sure you’re good!”

Linhardt had not been born with the capacity to deal with all this earnestness. Also, seeing Caspar this way is more than a little unnerving—they’ve been friends for so long that Linhardt simply cannot fathom being in a relationship with him, and he knows Caspar feels the same. “You eat it,” Linhardt insists. “It’ll do you more good than me, anyway. I’ll, er, be heading off now.”

“Ah! Where are you going? Are you helping out on a mission? Take me with you!” Caspar grabs onto his wrist to pull him back. Linhardt winces; any stronger and he would have ripped Linhardt’s arm clean off. “I gotta keep you safe in case there’s a battle!”

“No, no, I’m just going to… the library—”

“Then I’ll come with! If you need to carry a bunch of heavy books—”

“Never mind, I’ll go to—my room or something—”

“Are you gonna nap? I’ll get you extra pillows!”

The extra pillows are more tempting than all the plates of food here combined, but Linhardt is not _that_ terrible of a person. “I’m sorry, but I really must get going,” he sighs, planting his hands on Caspar’s shoulders to keep him in place. Much to his despair, Caspar actually _blushes_ at his touch. This is making Linhardt’s headache worse with each passing second. “And I’d prefer to be alone. Some other time, Caspar?”

Caspar wilts in disappointment, but mercifully enough he nods. “Alright! Just let me know when you wanna hang out, okay? I’ll miss you if you stay in your room too long!”

“I truly hope I never have to hear you sound like this again,” Linhardt mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Linhardt plucks a sweet bun off one of Caspar’s many plates and hurries out of there before Caspar can change his mind and follow him around.

So the love potion definitely works, that’s for certain. Linhardt continues walking, munching idly on the sweet bun. The other students minding their own business and generally ignoring him don’t seem affected, else they would probably be prostrating themselves at his feet like with Caspar earlier, so perhaps it only takes effect if Linhardt gets close to someone. Maybe through physical or eye contact? It hadn’t worked on Claude earlier despite the obvious eye contact, so physical touch sounds most likely.

A horse neighs. Linhardt blinks, looking around—he’d ended up near the stables. From here he can see a familiar shock of orange hair, which can only belong to one horse girl… ahem, horse boy. Really, he’s not a _bad_ person, but his obsession with getting Linhardt to _exercise?_ Simply unreasonable. Linhardt turns around and tries to tiptoe out of sight—

“Linhardt! Is that you? Perfect timing!”

Linhardt curses the Goddess and all Four Saints in his head before turning back around and giving Ferdinand a tired look. If it’s physical touch, he’ll just have to keep himself from touching Ferdinand, which doesn’t sound too difficult. “Hello, Ferdinand. Unfortunately for you I am on my way to take on a very arduous task that will keep me busy for the next six hours, so—”

“Nonsense!” Ferdinand exclaims, which is exactly what Linhardt figured he would say, but… is it just his imagination, or does Ferdinand sound different? A little… happier? “I have been simply dying to see you all day, my dear.”

Linhardt chokes on air. “I— _Excuse me?_ ”

“Oh! Is such a name not to your liking? Forgive my foolish transgressions!” Ferdinand apologizes, although Linhardt’s head is spinning too much for him to even properly process the apology. “I should have asked for permission before referring to you as such. Then, please, what _can_ I call you?”

“My _name_ would be a good place to start,” Linhardt says, backing away a little. Ferdinand, thankfully, seems to be physically restraining himself from coming closer. “What’s with you? Go call, I don’t know, Dorothea by a pet name, not _me._ ” He hadn’t so much as brushed against Ferdinand throughout the day—since it’s the weekend, Linhardt had spent all day in Claude’s dorm room working on the potion.

Ferdinand frowns. “Well! It is only right I treat you well. I am to court you, after all!”

Linhardt is starting to feel dangerously faint. “Come again?”

“I have been deliberating on my choice of partner for a long while now, and I wholeheartedly believe my feelings for you are nothing short of lifelong,” Ferdinand continues. He’s speaking so loudly that some of the other nearby students are starting to take notice, which cannot be good for Linhardt. “My d—ahem, Linhardt! I cannot wait any longer! Please, may I ask for your hand in marriage?”

“Slow down!” Linhardt hisses, which may have been the wrong words to say first.

Ferdinand nods, looking completely serious. “I see! As I thought, we must undergo the courtship ritual first. I have just the thing for it. Wait right here while I run to the greenhouse—”

“Stop right there!” some student Linhardt’s never met before cries, halting Ferdinand in his tracks. Linhardt’s relieved at first, because he’s almost certain Ferdinand and his single-minded determination would have led to the uprooting of the entire greenhouse, but then the student says, “Step away from him, von Aegir. _I’m_ the one who shall be marrying Linhardt, not you!”

“ _What?_ ” Linhardt chokes.

“ _What?_ How dare you!” Ferdinand gasps.

Another student drops the bucket of horse feed they had been holding and runs over to point a finger at the first student. “No, _I’ll_ be marrying Linhardt!”

“No, I will!”

“I will!”

“Stop!” Ferdinand suddenly declares, much to Linhardt’s relief. “I see… of course the wonderful Linhardt would have had more admirers than just me. Very well! There can only be one way to settle this.”

“Yes,” Linhardt agrees. “Let me just run over to Claude and—”

Ferdinand draws his lance. “I challenge all of you to a duel for Linhardt’s affections!”

“ _No!_ ” Linhardt groans, but the other students have already whipped out a sword and axe. There’s no point trying to stop them now, but Linhardt doesn’t want their injuries on his hands either—he grabs onto Ferdinand’s arm and tugs him back before one of the students would have slashed at him. “Ferdinand, enough! This is ridiculous!”

“But!” Ferdinand gives him a pitiful look. “I must protect you from these louts! They know nothing of your grace and beauty and—”

Linhardt once again pulls Ferdinand out of the way before another student would have cut his head off. “Yes, yes, and thank you, but I do not need you and these two other idiots getting needlessly hurt for my grace and beauty and whatever else you can think of.”

“Why, Linhardt, thank you for the opportunity: your voice, your eyes, your porcelain skin, your bow-shaped lips—”

“What in flames is going on here?” a dark voice questions. The students halt in their tracks, irritation crossing their features as they turn around. Linhardt almost weeps in relief—Hubert is standing near the entrance to the stables, staring at all of them like he’s examining some dirt on his heel. “Making a mess of yourselves as a fun and cheerful pastime, I see? You all never fail to amaze.”

“I will hear no such slander from your mouth, Hubert!” Ferdinand shouts, leaping up to his feet and glaring at Hubert.

Hubert rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, the wonderful noble Ferdinand. Were my simple words too much for your pride—”

“I shall humbly accept your insults,” Ferdinand interrupts, much to Hubert’s evident surprise, “but Linhardt here is on a level far past the rest of us! Now, apologize for your grievous misdeeds or fall by my lance!”

Something in Hubert’s eyes flashes. “Linhardt, hm? So is he now the unfortunate object of your affections? I find it hard to believe that he would return such feelings.”

Linhardt clears his throat. “I am right here, in case you have all forgotten. Look, I did not at all appreciate that duel to the death you three fools had going on just now,” he says, standing up and pointing at each of the three one by one and making absolutely sure they’re listening, “so get any thoughts about my hand in marriage out of your head this instant. If I had even a single thought about marrying any of you— _which I did not_ —consider that thought gone and done away with.”

Ferdinand looks genuinely grief-stricken. “But, Linhardt!”

“Ferdinand, please be quiet.”

Ferdinand falls into a sullen silence. Linhardt gives the other two students a dirty look before leaving it at that and hurrying to Hubert’s side. “Thank you for that,” Linhardt mumbles. At the very least, Hubert doesn’t seem like he’s been affected by the potion, so staying with him for a short while could be safe.

“Of course.” Hubert walks away from the stables, and Linhardt casts one last glance over his shoulder before keeping pace with the other man. “Anything for you.”

“That really was such a pain. I have no idea why—” Linhardt pauses. “Wait. What?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Well, yes, you did.” Linhardt stares up at Hubert, who doesn’t seem to have noticed anything strange. “I thought you reserved that line… well, those sorts of lines… for Edelgard.”

He expects Hubert to correct him into calling her _Lady_ Edelgard, but to his astonishment Hubert doesn’t seem like he had noticed at all. “I cannot be separated from my devotion to Lady Edelgard, of course. But you are a different matter entirely, Linhardt. Have I not made it obvious through my actions yet?”

“Um… no,” Linhardt responds, truthfully. “Frankly the most actions you have ever taken against me was that one time you tried assassinating me when Caspar and I stole your food.” A terrifying experience he’d rather not relive.

Hubert frowns. “I see. It seems I have given you the wrong idea about how I treat the people I love.”

“I hope I will never have to hear you say that word again.”

“I love and care for you deeply, Linhardt,” Hubert says, perfectly monotonous. Linhardt feels ready to black out, and not in a good way. “Which is why it pains me to so to see you surrounded by those fools who will hardly treat you the way you should be. Now, come.” He gestures in front of them, and Linhardt belatedly notices they’ve walked all the way back to the student dorms. Hubert’s room is just a few steps away. “Let me invite you to my room.”

Linhardt tenses himself to run. “I must decline. I have… places to be. Things to do. Books to read. You understand.”

“This will take but a moment.” Hubert comes closer, brushing their fingers together just slightly. Linhardt feels suddenly, violently ill. “Come. Let me show you what I have prepared for you.”

“ _No,_ thank you,” Linhardt repeats, and bolts out of there as fast as he can. Hubert, for all his threatening demeanor, is slower than Linhardt, that much he knows for sure.

He’s not sure how far he runs, but at some point he finds himself leaning against a tall tree, keeping him more or less hidden from any passing students. Linhardt catches his breath for a few moments, then peers out and scans the area. No one nearby… He lets himself slump down to sit on the grass, sighing in relief. What an absolute pain… He really should have just insisted Claude take this ridiculous potion instead.

“Hey, Linhardt!” a voice calls. Linhardt buries his head in his hands—speak of the devil. “How’re you holding up so far? Just saw you running like mad!”

“No thanks to you.” Linhardt glares up at a grinning Claude through the gaps of his fingers. “Lovely of you to show up _after_ I narrowly escaped from what must have been surefire danger. How are _you_ doing? Strolling around, enjoying life, I presume?”

Claude leans against the tree trunk, still sporting the grin Linhardt very much wants to slap off his face. “Yeah, that about sums it up. Here, have a sweet bun. You like these, right?”

“Oh, how unexpectedly kind of you.” Linhardt takes the offered bun and takes a bite. Still hot and fresh—he could sigh from happiness. The single sweet bun he had snatched from Caspar’s buffet earlier hadn’t been enough, especially considering he had missed lunch earlier, now that he thinks about it.

Unfortunately, Claude isn’t so kind as to just give him food and then leave. “So? Let me know every groundbreaking detail!”

Linhardt sighs again, though this time out of weariness rather than relief, before relaying what had happened with Caspar, Ferdinand, and Hubert. Honestly, he’s not even really sure _why_ Claude had decided to create such a thing. Apparently he had found the recipe for it in some old textbook and thought it would be interesting to see the effects, but to just make any old love potion for, what, fun? Linhardt doesn’t believe a word of it. “That’s it, so far,” he says, after recounting how he had fled from their resident dark mage.

“Wow, that’s…” Claude is very visibly doing his best to hold back his laughter. “I mean, sheesh, wow, that is _something._ I gotta write every bit down to make sure I, you know, don’t get things wrong when I do my research notes.”

After spending an inordinate amount of time with him, Linhardt’s grown more or less desensitized to his teasing. “Now that I’ve gone through this ridiculous ordeal of yours,” Linhardt says, getting back up to his feet to meet Claude’s eyes head-on, “why don’t you answer me something as well?”

Is it his imagination, or had he seen something almost akin to uncertainty flicker in Claude’s gaze. “Anything.”

“Why the love potion?”

“Oh, is that it? I already told you, I was—”

“Curious? Bored? In need of entertainment? Such shallow reasons don’t suit you, Claude.” Linhardt steps closer, and, yes, he had _definitely_ seen Claude tense up just now at his name. Hm, is it that easy to unnerve him, just by calling him by name? Linhardt is going to have quite a lot of fun with this. “I answered truthfully, so it’s only right you return the favor. Well?”

“Heh… Linhardt,” Claude laughs, backing up against the tree further, “getting kinda, uh, close here…”

Still no visible effect on him either. Had Claude prepared something to counter the effects of the love potion behind Linhardt’s back? Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to embarrass himself and give Linhardt blackmail material, but it seems like quite a bit of effort. Besides, all his ingredients are stored in his room, and Linhardt had taken his time cataloging all the fascinating plants and herbs he’d found in there. He would have noticed some disappearing.

Linhardt lifts one arm to place on Claude’s side, and then another, pinning him against the tree. When had they gotten so close? Oh, well, it doesn’t matter—all the better to see Claude’s cute nervous expression with. “I’d like an answer,” he reminds him, speaking lowly that even in a crowd only his voice would be heard. “Won’t you give it to me?”

Claude swallows thickly, and Linhardt watches the way his throat moves, more fascinated than he’d like to admit. The last time they had been this close… honestly, Linhardt can’t remember. Was it when he’d dozed off on Claude’s shoulder while they had been reading about possible ingredients together? Or the countless times they had leaned over the cauldron they used to brew the potion at the same time, their foreheads nearly touching? Or—Linhardt suppresses a sigh at the memory—when Linhardt had needed help with archery, once, and Claude had come almost distressingly close to him, Claude’s chest to Linhardt’s back, to adjust his stance and how he held the bow…

“Linhardt?” someone calls. Linhardt blinks blandly, while Claude’s shoulders visibly jolt in surprise. Ah… when was the last time anyone had been able to take this man by surprise? “What are you doing? Oh, Claude, you’re here too.”

“Professor!” Linhardt steps back from Claude to look at Byleth. The potion probably shouldn’t affect the professor, right? He doubts Byleth even knows what romantic affection feels like, with how little emotion they seem to experience. “Yes, we were just talking. Oh, by the way, about our next exam, do you think you could perhaps move it to next week? It’s just, I don’t believe I’ve understood everything you’ve taught us so far…”

It’s a lost cause, if Linhardt’s several failed past attempts are any evidence, but he’s not one to give up so easily—though he can’t say he isn’t shocked when Byleth nods and says, “Alright,” without looking like they’d even given it a single thought.

“Er… alright?” Had Linhardt heard wrong? Even Claude, still standing beside him, looks surprised.

Byleth nods again. “Alright,” they repeat. “Of course it’s fine with me, Linhardt. If you don’t understand the lesson, I’ll walk you through it.”

Well, this is an unexpected result. “Professor, you really are too kind,” Linhardt sighs. When Byleth isn’t breathing down his neck, sometimes literally, for sleeping through class and plain not showing up at all, he’s reminded of how nice a person Byleth can be. Although this is a bit strange—they had never agreed to rescheduling exams before…

“It’s nothing. You’re an excellent student.”

Linhardt blinks. “I… am?”

Claude laughs. “He is, Teach?” There’s still an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice, which Linhardt will take as his win for now.

“One of the best in this year,” Byleth confirms. Linhardt’s starting to feel dizzy from all the praise, but he is almost certainly not complaining. “I apologize it took me this long to realize—I am not experienced in the academe, so it was not immediately apparent to me. But Linhardt, your intelligence surpasses the rest of the students by leaps and bounds. Feel free to sleep in class whenever you like—storing all that information in your head must make you tired.”

Forget all those terrible experiences with Caspar, Ferdinand, and Hubert. This is the best day of Linhardt’s life. “Really, Professor? Really, truly?”

“Really, truly.”

“Professor…!” Linhardt leaps into their arms. Byleth doesn’t react at first, before slowly, rather unnaturally, loosely wrapping their arms around his shoulders to return the hug. “Oh, I knew you’d look out for me. Does this mean I can start bringing my pillow and blanket too? And some snacks, if I’m hungry?”

“Anything you like.”

Linhardt turns around to grin at Claude. “Claude! Do you hear that? Why, I think I have you to thank for this!” Byleth isn’t acting all lovey and romantic to him, but they _are_ showering a ridiculous amount of compliments on him and letting him do whatever he likes, which, in Linhardt’s opinion, is everything he could possibly want and more.

But for some reason, Claude just looks… troubled. Concerned. No, angered? His emotions are kept under wraps so often that Linhardt can’t read him easily. “Oh, a… aha,” he manages, at length. “Yeah, uh, happy for you, Linhardt. Sheesh, looks like you got what you wanted after all, huh?”

Linhardt slowly draws back from Byleth. He hasn’t hugged anyone like that in a while. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No, no way!” Claude laughs again, but this time it definitely sounds strained. “I just, uh. I’ll… be off. Yeah, I’ll leave you two alone! Have fun or… whatever, Linhardt, Teach!” And then he turns around and runs off, far too fast for that to have been casual.

“That’s strange,” Linhardt muses aloud. “He seemed bothered. Was it something I did?”

“Perhaps he’s finally remembered that he still hasn’t submitted the essay due tonight,” Byleth suggests.

“Oh, maybe. On that note, Professor, do you mind if I just, sort of…”

“You can submit that essay anytime you like, Linhardt. I’m sure words come easily to you, what with all the books you read.”

Linhardt smiles, but this time the praise doesn’t feel as good as earlier. Now that he thinks about it, Byleth doesn’t honestly mean the compliments—it seems the effect of the love potion is watered down slightly, probably something to do with their Crest or whatever—and that means the words are as empty as Linhardt should have known they were. “Thank you,” he manages. “Er… I should get to work on that essay as well now. See you around, Professor.”

He knows Caspar gets him food as a way of showing he cares about Linhardt, but when he’s compelled to do so through the love potion’s magic, Linhardt hadn’t been able to bring himself to eat much. Ferdinand tends to be protective of Linhardt, especially on the battlefield whenever they get paired up together, but he would never hurt other students. And Hubert… well, Hubert is an enigma, but Linhardt’s fairly sure he had been invited into his dorm room to be poisoned and chained to Hubert for life or something. And Byleth is kind and understanding, if a little strict and with their emotions under lock and key, but the empty praise doesn’t suit them one bit.

Linhardt stares sullenly down at the grass, kicking some stray pebbles out of his way. And now there’s Claude, strangely unaffected and acting oddly. Normally Linhardt would say he doesn’t mind Claude running away from him—the concept would have been extremely welcome, actually—but for some reason it just sits wrong with him now, and Linhardt has no idea why.

He sighs. This really is more trouble than he had been expecting.

“What’s with the long face?”

Linhardt looks up, readying himself to run away as soon as whoever had just spoken starts acting strangely. Leonie from the Golden Deer House is a few ways away, idly twirling her lance. She looks like she’s just finished up with her training. “Oh… hello,” Linhardt greets, awkwardly. They’ve only really spoken a few times, but she seems nice. His best memory of her is when the Eagles and the Deer had shared a class and he had asked her to pass a note to Claude during the lecture. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, like always,” Leonie teases good-naturedly. Linhardt frowns a little—she doesn’t seem to be acting any different, but it’s hard to tell when he doesn’t know much about her in the first place. Is this how she is with people she likes? “Maybe thinking about the huge mess you caused in the stables earlier?”

Linhardt winces. “You saw that?”

“Just the tail end of it, when you were telling ‘em off.” Leonie sets her lance down to stretch her arms over her head. “Then when you left, they looked all confused like they had no idea what just happened. Did you use some weird magic spell by accident or something? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“No, not really. It’s a love potion…” Linhardt smiles at Leonie’s startled expression. “I lost a deal and now I’m acting as a test subject. But you don’t seem to be affected?”

“Who, me?” Leonie, unexpectedly enough, laughs. “Maybe it’s got something to do with how I’m never affected by guys, period.”

It takes a long second for that to sink in Linhardt’s head. “Oh,” he says, stupidly; then, with significantly more emotion, “ _Oh._ ”

“Figured something out?”

“Yes, well—” He waves his arms in the air, trying to go for a nonchalant gesture, but he probably only ends up looking like a very troubled chicken. “Your pest of a House leader, he’s the one who roped me into this, and I’ve been wondering this whole day if he took some sort of immunization agent to resist its effects, but now that you mention it, perhaps he simply isn’t interested in men.” How had Linhardt not thought about it before? He supposes he’s just grown so used to being surrounded by the rest of the Eagles that the possibility had never crossed his mind.

Even more unexpectedly enough, Leonie stares at him, then bursts into uproarious laughter. “So this is Claude’s doing? Linhardt, come on! I don’t know you that well, but aren’t you supposed to be super smart?”

“What exactly are you implying?” Linhardt asks weakly.

“I guess you’re only book-smart. There’s no room left in that head of yours for emotional intelligence, is there?” Leonie grins. “Look, why don’t you just go, I don’t know, _talk_ to Claude about this? It can’t be that hard.”

Linhardt huffs. “This is Claude we are talking about, if you’ve forgotten. Talking to that man is every bit as difficult as fighting a Demonic Beast on your own.”

“Ahh, don’t exaggerate,” Leonie waves off, reaching over to smack his shoulder. She had probably meant to do that in name of companionship or something, but Linhardt ends up stumbling forward and feeling like he’s broken a bone or two. “Now go on! Hurry up and communicate already!”

Oh, communication, how Linhardt dreads it so. He mumbles a goodbye to Leonie before dutifully returning to the dorm rooms, dearly hoping Hubert isn’t still lurking around there, and ducking into Claude’s thankfully-unlocked room as soon as he reaches it. “Claude?”

Claude looks up—it looks like Linhardt had caught him in the middle of his pacing. “Oh, hey. Back so early? Thought you’d take more time with Teach back there.”

“Don’t be silly.” Linhardt closes the door behind him, but doesn’t say anything right away. He hadn’t come here with a plan. Why hadn’t he come here with a plan? One must _always_ have a plan when up against Claude, and now he has no idea what to do or say. Eventually, after Claude started pacing again then stopped after noticing Linhardt was probably acting odd, Linhardt manages, “You… Are you into men?”

Right. Hm. Maybe Linhardt could have phrased that better.

Claude stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Seeing as the words hadn’t felt real when they had come out of Linhardt’s mouth, perhaps he really has. It wouldn’t be the worst side-effect of the love potion so far. “Uh,” Claude says, “ _what?_ ”

“Never mind,” Linhardt says, now oddly embarrassed. He strides further into the room and flops onto Claude’s bed, making himself comfortable; he’s done this enough times throughout the course of their partnership that Claude doesn’t even blink anymore. “Anyway, I’m very much exhausted now, and I think this has been enough physical exertion for the day. Shall we go over the results of our experiment?”

“You aren’t gonna explain that question, are you?”

“No.” Linhardt fluffs Claude’s pillow up and lays his head on it, lying on his back to stare at the ceiling. “You looked deep in thought when I entered. Care to tell me what you’ve gathered so far?”

Claude sounds amused when he says, “Alright,” and takes a seat on his desk chair. “Well, judging by what you experienced with your classmates, I think the potion takes effect based on general proximity more than anything else. And it looks like it amplifies the love languages of the affected.”

“Love languages?”

“You know, how someone shows love? Kinda obvious from the name. There are five different kinds, if I remember right. So your best friend, Caspar, brought you a whole ton of food, while that guy Ferdinand tried to protect your dignity or something.”

“And Hubert tried to poison me.”

“And that,” Claude says, like it’s no big deal, go ahead, Linhardt, get poisoned. “Hmm, but it looks like the effect was diminished slightly with Teach. It wasn’t romantic, but they were definitely still enamored with you.”

Linhardt sighs. “The praise was unsettling, but I could very much live with them letting me sleep in class whenever I like. Oh, I found out they return to normal once I get a fair distance away from the affected, if that helps.”

Claude nods. “I thought so. Anything else?”

“It doesn’t affect people with specific tastes.”

“…Tastes?”

“That’s why I wanted to ask if you were into men.” Linhardt pushes himself up on his elbows, meeting Claude’s eyes as shamelessly as possible. In all honesty this is the most flustered he’s ever felt in his life, but he can’t let Claude see that. “It would certainly explain why you aren’t affected by the potion. Unless you prepared something to counter that ahead of time? A certain charm to ward off magic? A plant or herb with special properties?”

“Uh.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to share the information with me. If an enemy shows up using strange magic shows up, it would help to have some sort of protective charm with me. Or perhaps we could experiment with it as well, to see if we could modify it into something more general? I’ve been trying to get Caspar to bring a shield out with him on the battlefield, and a defensive charm to add to that would be a great boon—”

Claude clears his throat. “Linhardt?”

“Ah.” Linhardt sighs and lies back down. “My apologies. I went off on a tangent again.” Though thinking about it, this might be the first time he’s apologized to Claude for talking too much and too fast—he’s apologized several times to several people, but not Claude. He had never felt the need to, even when they had been working together on the potion and Linhardt had gotten so excited at some of the magical herbs used as ingredients that he had spoken for thirty minutes straight once.

Claude shakes his head. “Hey, it’s not a problem, you know I don’t mind. More importantly—”

“You don’t?” Linhardt blurts out, more shocked than he’d like to admit.

“Uh, yeah? Thought I made that obvious.” Claude lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I like hearing everyone’s thoughts, especially yours. There’s always something going on in that head of yours, same as with me. That’s why I wanted you to help me with this experiment… and why I still want you to join the Deer.” He grins, folding his arms over his chest. “I haven’t forgotten about that. Aren’t you convinced yet?”

Linhardt rolls his eyes, though it’s hard to make the action genuine when Claude’s words are doing something very strange to his chest. “What exactly about this entire experiment did you think would have convinced me to leave the Eagles? Edelgard is a taskmaster, but the classes are fine. My friends are all here, too.”

“Come on, it’s not like you’re switching sides in a war. You can still talk to Edelgard and Hubert and Caspar and all of ‘em even if you’re in the Deer.”

“Hmph…” Linhardt stares at the still-smiling Claude. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Claude blinks. “What question?”

“Why aren’t you affected by the potion?” They had chalked it up to the potion needing some time to take effect at first, but when it became increasingly evident Claude simply wasn’t affected by it, Linhardt can’t help but take suspicion. Is it really so simple as Claude not being interested in men? For some reason, the thought is both disappointing and difficult to believe.

“Oh, well, haha…” Claude shrugs again, but this shrug is significantly less casual than the last one. “I dunno, maybe I’m just naturally resistant to this sort of thing? You know me, been playing with poisons and potions for forever now, I must’ve—”

“I don’t believe a word of that.” With great effort, Linhardt pushes himself off the bed to sit up instead. Even without the obvious nervous tics, Linhardt’s intuition—or, in Caspar’s words, his gut feeling—keeps shaking its metaphorical head and pointing accusatory fingers at Claude’s face. “Let me see. If you really weren’t into men, or if you really do have some protective amulet on you, then you would have said so by now. So clearly it isn’t either of those two, yes?”

For some reason, Claude coughs out a laugh. “Oh, you’re gonna analyze me now, are you, Linhardt? Alright, maybe this’ll be some good entertainment. Let me see what you got.”

 _Entertainment?_ Linhardt feels the now-familiar fire of competition flare up in his chest. It really has been a while since anyone has gotten on his nerves just right enough to nudge at his pride and push him into exerting effort in something like this. “The potion only partially worked on Professor Byleth,” Linhardt continues, frowning at Claude. “It might be because of the age difference and the power dynamic, so clearly the potion takes into account the relationship between two people. So clearly, there is something about _our_ relationship, Claude, that either interferes with the potion’s powers or affects it in some way as to cancel it out.”

“Listening to you is all well and good,” Claude says, when Linhardt falls quiet after his last words, “but if you’re really curious, I can just lend you the book I found the potion in.”

Linhardt huffs again. “You of all people should know that would be an insult at this point.”

“Hey, just saying. It’s an option.”

“Give me a moment.” Linhardt mulls the situation over one more time, but no obvious solution comes to mind. Perhaps he should think of the potion as something else he’s more familiar with? A poison, maybe? Poisons work differently depending on the victim, certainly. Those with stronger constitutions would be able to stave off the negative consequences for longer, like with Byleth, while those with weaker constitutions would be rendered helpless, like with Caspar and the rest. So when would someone be unaffected by ingesting poison? Well, if they’re naturally immune to it, like with Leonie, or…

Linhardt freezes. Or if they were already poisoned to begin with.

“Looks like you get it,” Claude says, pulling Linhardt out of his thoughts. “Sooo… any last words before I feed you some forgetfulness potion?” It sounds like a joke, but his hand is suspiciously close to a bottle of clear liquid on his desk.

“Wait.” Linhardt stands up, then sits back down. He’d really rather not be standing for this. “You’re not affected… because… you already like me.”

“Unfortunately, you’re correct.”

“You like me?”

Claude sighs. “ _Yes,_ Linhardt, I think we’ve established that.”

“You—” Linhardt shakes his head, which is a terrible mistake on his part—he’s dizzy enough as is. “I don’t understand.”

“It really isn’t that complicated,” Claude says. His voice has been sounding more and more strained with each word, but now he sounds like he’s barely even able to speak. “Linhardt, do you still not get it somehow? I really don’t want to have to say it myself, you know.”

“But—do we not hate each other?” Linhardt asks, standing up again despite the wave of nausea that threatens to sweep him off his feet and moving closer to Claude, who glances furtively around his room like he’s looking for an escape route. Well, Linhardt isn’t about to have Claude running out of here and leaving Linhardt still bewildered—he plants his hands atop the desk, caging Claude in against his table and Linhardt himself. “I was under the impression that… well…”

Claude scoffs, clearly trying to act like this is nothing important, but the fact that he can’t meet Linhardt’s eyes says it all. “Seriously? Why would I try to invite someone I hate into the Golden Deer?”

Okay. Maybe Linhardt is a little bit of an idiot.

It makes sense, in hindsight: Claude had first started hovering around him back when they reached for the same book in the library at the beginning of the school year, and Linhardt had been equally curious about his Crest, so they shared information with each other over library books and, very rarely, dinner meals. When Linhardt lingered around the Golden Deer classroom to pester Byleth into letting him research their Crest, Claude was always there to distract Linhardt and drag him somewhere else. During the incident down in Abyss, they’d spent ages poring over the books in the Shadow Library together and exploring all the uncharted territory despite the dark (and the smell). He’s been insistent Linhardt join their House for months now, and coerced him into accepting this (unfair) deal. Even during the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, Claude had carried him so… gently.

“Amazing. I can see the light of realization in your eyes,” Claude remarks, voice flat. “Okay, so, do you _mind_ backing up a little? Any closer and I won’t be able to breathe.”

“Wait. Just…”

“ _Linhardt,_ ” Claude sighs, running a hand through his hair, and—is it strange to be jealous of a hand? It probably is. “I was hoping otherwise, but it looks like your answer to this is the same answer as whenever I ask you to join the Deer, so just save it, okay? Ugh, it looks like I read this completely wrong after all…”

Linhardt frowns. “You…” Did Claude… think Linhardt might have returned his feelings? When did Linhardt ever—how do they put it—send him a sign? He can’t remember any specific moments. Certainly not when he had pinned Claude to the tree earlier, right? That’s as unromantic as unromantic actions get.

But… _does_ he like Claude back?

Linhardt hurriedly runs through his memories. It is… admittedly hard to find anyone who would listen to him with much attention, or anyone who would pay attention to his ramblings at all, but Claude always listened. Claude never told him to slow down or shut up. And Linhardt likes hearing Claude’s thoughts on a matter too, whether it be about the nobility or Crests or the Church. They compare research data and pass notes in class, the only times Linhardt ever bothers to stay awake during lectures. When Claude had helped him out with archery, Linhardt had never thought twice about _why_ he can so vividly remember that day, when Claude had been close enough for Linhardt to turn around, pull him by the collar, and… and…

Okay. Maybe Linhardt is a very big idiot.

“Uh. Linhardt? Hello?” Claude waves a hand before his face, and Linhardt blinks himself out of his thoughts. Much to his concern, Claude’s other hand is now firmly clutching the potion of forgetfulness from earlier. “Okay, great, you didn’t fall asleep standing and with eyes open. So, if you could just stay still and let me get this in you…”

“No, stop that.” Linhardt swats Claude’s hand away before he can uncork the bottle. “I am not—I am not forgetting any of this. Put that—Let me just put that away for you.” He grabs the potion, glad Claude doesn’t resist, and sets it back atop the desk. Had Claude planned even that in case of this situation? Linhardt doesn’t want to know how much of his memories would have been erased if Claude had planned even further ahead and mixed its contents with a sweet bun instead.

Claude blows a stray strand of hair out of his face, still not looking at Linhardt. “Oh, I get it. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and save this as blackmail material. Damn, never thought I’d see the day where my own tricks are used against me—”

“This is not—for blackmail,” Linhardt grinds out. Why is it so hard to just _say what he wants?_ This is why he will never understand communication. So easy in theory, so ridiculously hard for no discernible reason in application. “Claude. I… This… I didn’t… expect this. At all.”

“Yeah, I could see that.”

“I… appreciate you… being honest—no, you weren’t honest with me at all, I had to figure things out myself before you would confirm anything.”

Claude grins weakly. “Aw, but I know you love figuring puzzles out.”

Linhardt nods in defeat. “Which is why I like… like… figuring you out as well,” he mutters, saying the last few words in one rushed breath. If he tells himself his face is not warm, then his face is not warm. “What I mean to say is—I like—spending time with you. I mean, I… like… I like… being with you…”

Linhardt briefly closes his eyes and wishes for death.

“Wait… Wait a second,” Claude says, and when Linhardt cracks his eyes open it’s his turn to see the light of realization in Claude’s eyes, “you mean… hey, _Linhardt,_ you got me all disappointed for nothing after all? Are you kidding me right now?”

“Forgive _me_ for being taken aback,” Linhardt hisses. “You—How did you expect me to react after springing something like that on me out of nowhere!”

Claude’s grinning now, but it’s not his usual teasing smile or scheming smirk—it’s something else entirely, with genuine mirth and happiness and a plethora of other things Linhardt so rarely sees on Claude, who blankets his emotions like poisoned daggers in his pockets. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe you could’ve swooned into my arms and declared your undying love for me? Speaking of which, you haven’t even said the actual words yet. Come on, let me hear it!”

Linhardt scowls. “ _You_ haven’t said them either.”

“Oh. Well, the Deer won the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, so what I say goes, right?”

“Claude, I am going to magic your face off if you keep bringing that battle up for our every disagreement.”

“You are _so_ romantic. So? Can I hear you say it, _please?_ ” Claude mock-pleads. Oh, how Linhardt would love to hear him _actually_ plead—the very thought already has something shivering down his spine.

Linhardt opens his mouth, trying to get himself to say the dreaded words as confidently as possible in an attempt to fluster Claude instead, but he pauses before he can speak. No, when have words really done anything for either of them? It’s the listening that had mattered most to Linhardt—it’s the food they shared, the notes they passed, the touch of their bodies when Claude had adjusted his bow for him. Linhardt already knows he talks too much, and there’s no point in telling Claude something he already knows.

“Here’s something better,” Linhardt says. He gives Claude a second to look confused before leaning in.

Linhardt vaguely realizes this is his first kiss and he is giving it away to Claude, to the Golden Deer House leader, to the heir of House Riegan, to a little troublemaker, to someone who keeps poison between his teeth and the antidote under his tongue, to someone who had stuffed his heart in a lonely box else he would have worn it on his sleeve. If Linhardt’s father were here, he would have had an aneurysm, a stroke, and cardiac arrest all at once, but not before grabbing Linhardt by the scruff of his neck and dragging him away.

Claude tastes of—not much, considering they’d both skipped lunch earlier, if Linhardt remembers right. But Linhardt closes his eyes and tilts his head, leaning in to Claude’s touch when his hands come up to cup Linhardt’s cheeks—he tastes of candlelit nights at the library, of two heads bent over a cauldron together, of an offered sweet bun and a folded note and a smirk shared in secret. Linhardt lets his hands rest on Claude’s waist and thinks, yes, this is a love potion he could drink in forever.

When they separate, much to Linhardt’s disappointment, all they can really do is stare at each other for a while before Claude says, “Sorry to tell you this, but you kind of suck at kissing.”

If Linhardt were not a holy man, he would beat Claude senseless. “I have never met someone who challenges my pacifistic nature as much as you do.”

“An honor.” Claude grins, wrapping his arms around Linhardt’s neck to tug him closer. Linhardt stumbles, but doesn’t mind at all when he ends up sitting on Claude’s lap as a result. “I can’t believe the stupid potion worked.” At Linhardt’s inquiring look, Claude explains, “I didn’t want to have to say the words aloud myself, so I came up with the idea while I was working on it already.”

“Such a complicated plan. You made things harder for both of us.” Linhardt mushes Claude’s cheeks together, amusing himself with Claude’s resulting face. “Next time, just tell me you like me. Much better for everyone involved. I wonder how Caspar is doing with all that food, actually.”

“Oh, be careful if you go outside,” Claude advises. “The potion’s effects last for 24 hours, so you’ll still be hounded down by my competitors if you get too near any of ‘em.”

Linhardt smiles, tapping his chin in thought. “Why, is that so? Then I suppose that means I have no choice but to stay here for the next 24 hours.”

He places one hand on Claude’s shoulder, using the other to tilt Claude’s head slightly to the side. Those wide green eyes may be the most endearing things Linhardt’s ever seen in his life. “Not that I don’t like this, but what are you doing right now?”

“Hmph. If I’m awful at kissing, then the only way to improve is through practice, isn’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> and then they practiced kissing for 5 hours until lin fell asleep in claude's bed, only to wake up the next morning cuddling together. also whether or not lin joins the deer in the end or lin stays with the eagles and ends up on the other side of the war across claude is up to u 💔
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/featherxs) and [tumblr](https://featherxs.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
